The Beltane Blessing
by write-love-latte
Summary: Beware the undiscerning lovers who utter each others names on the night of Beltane when the fire is still lit and the drums still beat, for they will find themselves bound together for a year and a day. DMGW, complete!


The Beltane Blessing

**Author's Note: This story contains a lemon. It's not meant to offend any one who actually celebrates Beltane. It's just a little idea I had and decided to set down.  
**

In the Great Hall that evening, the sixth and seventh years had brimmed with excitement over their untouched food, glancing with satisfaction up at the magical ceiling. Though the day had been warm and humid with heavily pregnant clouds overhead, a sudden downpour just before dinner had let up to reveal a clear night. The older students who were permitted to participate in the festivities had closely monitored the weather for weeks. Rain would have dampened their elation, but the cloudless night sky they were now faced with stoked their enthusiasm to a fever pitch.

It was April 30th. Tonight, they would leave their dormitories covered in thick cloaks. They would migrate through the castle, out its gates, and down the path to Hogsmeade where, on the outskirts of the town, there would be a great celebration. A bonfire would be lit, and before entering its warm glow, they would shed their cloaks to reveal masked faces and far too much skin. Alcohol and the primal beat of drums would fuel the night's activities. They would dance and otherwise cavort, releasing themselves to this ancient tradition, and welcoming the 1st of May.

Ginny Weasley had no interest in this.

"It's Beltane," Luna Lovegood stated in a tone that brooked no argument, eyeing Ginny with some confusion, "How can you even think of missing it?" The lithe blonde floated along the corridor, but her hand gripped the arm of her red-haired companion with some firmness. "Apart from the Beltane Blessing, there's no better festival for young witches and wizards to partake in!"

Ginny sighed. She had heard a great many tales about this particular event from her brothers, and she wanted no part of it. "It's just an excuse for anonymous, drunken sexual activity. That's all it is." Luna's grip tightened on her, refusing to let her or this discussion go. "I would really rather spend the night sleeping. We have classes tomorrow!"

Luna snorted. "You sound worse than Hermione. Even she's going." Luna gave Ginny's arm a yank, leaning in to whisper, "_Both_ will-o'-the-wisps _and _firebirds are said to be seen in the flames of the bonfire, Ginny. _Both of them!_"

Ginny huffed in response. The two alighted upon a wide staircase, and began climbing it slowly. A few groups of girls hurried past, giggling loudly and undoubtedly on their way to get dressed. When they reached the top, Ginny paused. The paths to Gryffindor Tower and Ravenclaw Tower diverged here. "I'm not going, Luna. I told you this two weeks ago. So you go ahead and enjoy it, and I'm sure I'll hear all about it from you and everyone else tomorrow."

The other girl narrowed her bright blue eyes, finally settling her pale hands on her hips. "I'll be waiting for you at this staircase at ten o'clock. My cloak will have an owlman's feather pinned to the hood. I'll only stay for ten minutes, so be on time." Before Ginny could get a word in, Luna had already spun on her heel, drifting swiftly, in that way she had, down the hall.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm actually considering this," Ginny muttered to herself as she sifted through her trunk, searching for something that would be appropriate for an occasion as inappropriate as the one she was mulling over. When she had arrived at her dormitory, the other girls had already been in the process of picking out their clothes. Some of their outfits left so little to the imagination that Ginny wanted to cover her face from embarrassment.

"I'm going to try and get the Blessing with Seamus," Miranda Heckleworth had stated conspiratorially as she pulled on a barely-there bralette. The other girls had snorted with laughter before shamelessly stating who they would be trying to achieve the Blessing with. Ginny had wanted no part of Beltane, or this Blessing business, whatever _that_ was.

But after flaxen-haired Samantha Driddle had decided that she would be donning her hot pink mask in place of her velvet black one—it matched her choice of lipstick better—she had good-naturedly offered the extraneous but nonetheless intricate scrap of cloth to Ginny. "I know you don't have one," the girl had said, winking behind her flamboyant mask, before flouncing down to the Common Room to join the carousing that had already begun.

Ginny had waited for the other girls to leave before strapping the thing onto her face, and then she had stood, fascinated by her own appearance. The mask was dark as night against her pale skin. It covered the top of her nose, conveniently concealing her freckles, and arched elegantly over her eyebrows to flare at her temples. With her hair, tumbling messily over her shoulders, the person in the mirror could easily have been someone else, if not for the fact that she wore Ginny's old t-shirt and jeans.

"I'm just going to try something on and see how it looks with the mask," Ginny assured herself, but, even as she sorted relentlessly through her clothing, she could find nothing suitable. She had two dresses that could be worn for formal events, but they were much too expensive to risk getting covered in alcohol or mud or whatever other fluids people got covered in at Beltane. Not to mention the fact that they consisted of far too much fabric. Ginny would be overdressed in every sense of the word.

"I'm not meant to go." Ginny lay back on her bed surprisingly disappointed. She eyed the beautiful mask that she had placed on her bedside table. She closed her eyes. It was just not meant to be.

Hermione Granger chose that moment to burst into the room. Ginny started up, alarmed by the other girl's sudden entrance, and then she stared, because that was not all there was to be alarmed by. Hermione was all but unrecognizable, her mop of hair fastened into a messy cascade atop her head. Her mask, a bright, emerald green, concealed the top half of her face. She wore a cropped, beige bandeau top over her breasts and on her hips a flowing green skirt that hit just below her knees.

"As expected, you have nothing to wear," she announced, and if not for that familiar bossy tone Ginny might have thought it someone else. Hermione marched up to her and then thrust a neatly folded parcel into her hands. "Wear it." Ginny was still speechless as the other girl strode to the door. She turned at the last minute before leaving. "For Merlin's sake, Ginny, even I go to Beltane."

* * *

By the time Ginny had dressed and mustered the courage to leave her dormitory, it was ten o'clock. Most of the other partygoers had already departed, leaving the Common Room a ransacked mess in their wake. Ginny strode quickly, still unused to the long, flowing skirt that kissed her ankles, but also grateful for it. Her outfit was nowhere near as racy as some of the other girls'. Alongside the black and gold skirt, a strapless black crop top covered her generous chest, just a little too small for her. She wore a heavy cloak with the hood pulled up over her head, but she still adjusted the top self-consciously, aware of her uncovered stomach and shoulders.

Luna was just at the bottom of the stairs when Ginny caught up with her, a large grey feather tucked into the cloth of her cowl. "You came!" the girl enthused from the depths of her hood, before unceremoniously grabbing Ginny by the arm again. "You're late. It'll be starting just about now."

Luna led her through the castle at a quick pace. They were joined by other groups of stragglers who hurried along, eager to get to the action. The massive front doors of Hogwarts were open wide to the night as they passed through them and began the journey down to Hogsmeade. Descending, more people were visible further down the path, traveling in a great train of hooded figures. It was an eerie sight, but Ginny felt an odd sense of camaraderie with them. The air was fresh and cool in her nostrils, and she thought she could smell their shared excitement, sharp and urgent. She realized that she was relieved to be there.

They did not continue down the path into the town of Hogsmeade itself. Their hasty steps allowed them to merge with a larger crowd who turned off the cobblestoned road and onto a rough-hewn trail into the surrounding forest. The smell of pine, of wood, and of earth bombarded Ginny, even as she stumbled along, holding hands with Luna on a moonlit path with trees and bushes all around her.

They came upon the edge of the clearing even before Ginny realized it. The throng scattered very suddenly and Ginny realized that she was no longer stepping on mud, but discarded robes. The field was large and spacious. Near the center, people milled around restlessly, as though waiting for something to begin.

Luna was first to throw off her robe. Ginny gaped at the skimpy, sparkling get-up her friend had chosen to wear. When Luna began prancing away toward where the others had gathered, she hurriedly cast off her own mantle, shivering as the air caused her skin to prickle with goosebumps, before chasing after the girl.

This time, she grabbed Luna's forearm, about to reprimand her for leaving her behind. But the words stuck in her throat as a great flare of light illumined the night. A collective gasp of wonder left the mob of people. "They've lit it," Luna breathed, her face turned toward one of the most amazing sights Ginny had ever witnessed.

Against the inky blue sky, a massive bonfire burned several stories tall and at least one story wide, its tendrils flickering across the field, filling it with shapes and shadows. The heat it emitted chased the goosebumps from Ginny's skin, filling her with warmth and awe. The drumming began then, like deep, rhythmic thunder, a rumbling that shook the earth. Ginny found herself moving, swaying to the beat as the people all around her began to do the same. Somehow, as though unconsciously, they linked hands, forming rings of people around the fire. The rings moved circularly as if they were one, the outer rings moving inward even as the inner rings moved out.

When the ring Ginny had joined reached closest to the fire, she reveled in its heat. Dancing with abandon, she had closed her eyes, thrown her head back, allowed herself to be taken by the primal feeling that she was now a part of something greater. But even as her ring began to move back, following some natural choreography that she could not fathom knowledge of, something beckoned her to look into the fire. And there, on the other side, she saw him.

The flames seemed to have parted for just that split second. He was looking right at her, eyes glinting with the brightness of the firelight. He wore a light-colored mask, almost the same color as his mussed hair—what color it was exactly was indiscernible from such a distance. But she knew that he watched the movements of her body, just as she allowed her eyes to skirt over him. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of slacks that hung from his hips. She wanted to watch him more, to trace every contour of his body with her eyes, but the fire moved in and he disappeared.

Ginny didn't know how long she danced with them, spellbound by the magic of the fire and the drums. At some point, she broke away, lucidity returning to her once more. She realized she had lost Luna, and that in her hands was a half-finished bottle of some sweet tasting brew. From the lightness in her head, she was certain it contained alcohol. Breathless, she retreated to the edge of the clearing, taking a seat on the robes that still lay there.

Most people still danced, but a few others had left the larger mass to mingle in small groups around the perimeter of the fanfare. Against her better judgment, nursing her drink in both hands, Ginny found herself looking for the boy she had glimpsed through the flames. She sighed, remembering the aggressive, masculine way he had danced, perfectly in time with the reverberating drums. His body had been deeply shadowed by the fire, lean and muscled. She hoped that perfection she recalled had been exaggerated by distance and poor visibility.

A group of three thundered past her, a girl, laughing madly, chased by two boys. Ginny squinted at them, unsure if what she was seeing was true. The girl's top was nowhere to be found, her small breasts bouncing as she sprinted, but some glittering substance adorned her body. She held a bucket in her hands, and as she ran Ginny could see what looked like liquid silver sloshing over the sides, onto the grass and over the girl's legs.

"It's called moonpaste," a deep voice said right next to her. Ginny jumped, almost falling over onto the cushioned ground. "Everyone will be covered in it before long." She could only stare. When he had situated himself within an arm's reach of her, she didn't know. But there the boy who had captivated her as she danced sat, long legs splayed before him. He wore dark pants that contrasted with the pale skin of his bare chest, his slim but athletic body illuminated by dancing slivers of light. His mask was white, she saw. His hair was the lightest of blondes, almost silver, though it was darkened with sweat, and it lay in his eyes, curling against his neck.

"I saw you in the fire," she croaked, blushing at the sound of her own voice.

"_Through_ the fire," he corrected somewhat curtly, and she found herself distantly reminded of someone. The alcohol had fogged her brain, though, and she couldn't put her finger on who it was. For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, as though trying to spark recognition. When it was not forthcoming, they continued to stare, as though unwilling to take their eyes off each other now that they had found each other again. To her embarrassment, Ginny found her eyes slipping over him, admiring his body even as she was sure he did the same to her. A part of her felt self-conscious, aware that her stomach was bared, that her top was revealing much of her cleavage, and that her long skirt had ridden up as she sat. But a part of her was also fearless in front of him, wanting him to see her in this scandalous outfit, and wanting him to like it.

Suddenly, he lay back on their bed of cloaks, stretching his body out as though for her to continue her perusal. Blushing but unable to look away, Ginny finally decided to lie back as well. For some reason she didn't understand—maybe it was the alcohol—she moved a little closer to him. Turning her head, she watched his profile in the low light. A straight nose, strong jaw, and thin but shapely lips; the rest of his face was hidden by the mask, but she was certain that he was handsome.

"Do you know why we celebrate Beltane?" he asked suddenly, turning to face her. His eyes were dark, intense. She wanted to tell him the same thing she had told Luna earlier that day—that it was an excuse to behave irresponsibly. But for some reason, with his eyes on her like this, it seemed like the wrong thing to say. It seemed like he expected something more from her, and she couldn't bring herself to dismiss this festival that had brought the two of them together as folly.

"Wasn't it Muggles that celebrated it first? As part of their religion?" she asked, unable to think of anything else when his presence filled her mind. Out of the corner of her vision, she watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed. She thought she could make out a golden dusting of hair, and her fingers itched to reach out, run along his skin, and confirm what her eyes suspected.

He snorted, still looking at her. "The Muggles adopted it from us." His voice was haughty, and again it pricked at Ginny's memory, but she was too entranced with him to pursue any of the leads her mind was providing for her. His voice softened as he continued, "The earth calls to the magic inside of us, channeling it. That's why we use wands made of wood—because trees are of the earth." He paused. "Tonight, the call is strongest, though it tapers off by morning. When the fire is lit and the drums are beating, it's like a spell is being cast over us using our own collective magic."

Ginny frowned. "So all those people still dancing over there, you're telling me they're enchanting themselves?"

He smirked then, and Ginny's heart skipped a beat. "Precisely. Of course, most people don't know this and just use it as another reason to behave badly."

Ginny chuckled at that, glad that he could see that side of situation as well. She thought for a moment, turning onto her side to face him, and then asked, "Why did we stop dancing then?"

"Our wills are strong." He was still smirking, and Ginny found that she liked that indeed.

They were quiet again, watching each other. Fluidly, he rolled onto his side as well, in the process decreasing the distance between them and elevating himself slightly on one elbow. The drums and noise of the party that still raged all around them seemed distant. Ginny found herself longing to touch him, to feel the warmth and smoothness of his skin. Her breath sped up, her heart beating faster. She didn't know which one of them was closing the space, but in the next moment, she could feel the heat radiating off his body and taste his breath as it left his lips. He smelt of earth, intoxicating her even further. Finally, he leaned forward as though to kiss her and Ginny wanted nothing more than to let him, but for some reason she eased back.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He barked out a small laugh, and Ginny immediately loved the sound. She had the feeling that he didn't laugh much. "I can't tell you." He approached again, and this time Ginny let their lips brush. The simple touch sent a shock of pleasure through her, making her toes curl. He inhaled a sharp breath of air, as though reciprocating the feeling. His lips were firm but soft and though she wanted more, she moved away to hover just before his mouth.

"Why?" she questioned.

His hand shot up to grab her, resting confidently against her naked hip. That first touch of his warm palm against her skin alone thrilled her, but in one smooth moment he had pulled her flush against him. Their bodies aligned, he pressed his mouth securely to hers, trapping her in his embrace. "The Beltane Blessing," he purred against her lips, before gently swiping his tongue along her bottom lip. She gasped, opening her mouth to him, allowing his tongue to prod hers, to guide her into the kiss.

Ginny had been kissed before, but never like this. His large hand spread across her lower back to hold her to him, he dominated the kiss, caressing her mouth with his. And yet his hand remained on her lower back, never venturing somewhere she might hesitate to allow it. Lost, and finding that she trusted him not to lead her anywhere she wouldn't want to be, Ginny's own hands wandered. Through his soft hair, over his broad chest and shoulders, down his hard abdomen, she allowed herself to explore him, to become intimate with those planes of his body she had admired previously.

He was the one who ended their kiss, pulling away. Ginny followed him, her lips parted with disappointment. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard, and slowly inched his hand up her back. She leaned in for his mouth again, but he dodged her, and her kiss landed on the side of his mouth even as his hand found its way into her hair, gripping it to tug her head back. She let out a small sound of protest that quickly turned to pleasure as his lips found their way to her neck, peppering kisses at her pulse point all the way down to her shoulder.

His tongue flicked the lobe of her ear, and Ginny heard herself groan above the drums. At the sound, his hips seemed to press forward involuntarily. He froze, waiting for her reaction, and Ginny registered why. Thick and hard against her stomach, she could feel his erection through his pants. A small, niggling urge to push him away arose in the back of her mind, but even stronger than that was the impulse to reach down and _touch_ him. What kind of reaction would that illicit? She wanted to discover him.

She touched him tentatively at first and to her pleasure he made an approving moan, his pleasing voice tickling her ear as he set back to kissing her skin. She could feel her cheeks reddening as she gently explored his length, smoothing over the fabric of his pants. He began pushing into her hand with some abandon and his kisses against her neck became wet, open-mouthed, and urgent. He took her lips again, kissing her with even more intensity. Ginny was lost in this passion, lost in his primal responses to her.

He moved away for a brief moment, the back of his hand resting low on her stomach. "I want to touch you, too," he murmured, and though it was a statement, Ginny knew he was asking her permission. Almost without thinking, she nodded her assent. As his hand snaked beneath the band of her skirt, she found herself fighting not to move up into his palm, to have him touch her where she, she realized, needed him most.

His questing fingers finally touched her, and though it was over her underwear, Ginny let out a breathless gasp. "Merlin, _please_," she found herself saying, and it sounded almost as if she was begging him for something. Slowly he circled his fingers around her most sensitive place, exploring her, even though her hand had stilled on atop his hardness.

"You're wet," he said, his voice husky.

Ginny found her lips against his neck, kissing and nipping at the skin there. "For you," she whispered quietly. That seemed to trigger something in him. He groaned, rolling them over so that he was on top of her. As if by instinct, her legs fell open around him, her arms going up to rest around his shoulders.

And then they were kissing again. At the very edge of her conscious, she perceived him fumbling with his pants, yanking her skirt up and pulling her panties to one side. It was only when something hot and hard pressed against her folds that she realized what was about to happen, and it sent a shot of panic through her, dazed by want of him though she was.

"No," she said, bracing her hands against his bare chest to push him off and unable to conceal the alarm in her voice. He stilled immediately, rising up on his elbows to look down at her.

His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and hungry, but he said, "I understand," and moved away to lie next to her on the ground once again. She felt cold without his heat on her, felt as though she had cut something short—something that would have been amazing. He was probably angry with her, for coming this far and then not allowing him to go all the way. She suddenly wanted him back on top of her, kissing her and touching her, because then this strange discomfort would be gone.

He grabbed her hand then. Ginny looked down to see her tiny hand engulfed in his large one, shocked at the tender gesture.

"It's okay if you don't want to."

Something tugged at Ginny's chest. He was lying next to her, his breath harsh and his pants still tented with arousal, and yet…

"Stay still," Ginny ordered, as she released his hand, sitting up. Gathering her long skirt, she climbed on top of him, aligning their bodies as she saw necessary.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes wide with shock as she spread the skirt over him, so that her panties and his pants were the only things blocking his hardness from contacting her wetness.

"Something I want to do," she answered, smiling, and then rolled her hips atop him.

His reply was a guttural groan. Ginny herself was shocked at how good it felt with his erection pressed against her like that, rubbing her in the most exquisite place. His hands flew up to grip her hips as she found a rhythm that pleased them both, a rhythm that matched that of the beating drums. She watched his face in the dim light, tense with pleasure, even as his fingers tightened on her skin, so roughly she was sure it would leave bruises. Her own hands were opened on his chest, her nails beginning to dig in as her pleasure grew.

Ginny tossed her head back as the ecstasy reached a crescendo. As if in response to her, his hands slipped back to grab her ass, increasing the speed of her movements until she found herself screaming, a tight knot in her stomach unraveling in tremors that wrecked her entire body. He rose up then, hugging her body to his as he let out a sharp yell, his thrusts erratic as his body shook, stroking against her frantically.

When finally they stilled, locked in each other's embrace and breathing hard, Ginny realized that, even after sharing something so intimate and phenomenal with him, she still did not know who he was. His identity hadn't even mattered to her when he'd held her, kissing her and touching her in places so few had before. Was this the same thing others shared on Beltane? Was this what the other girls had meant by the Beltane Blessing?

His hands still ran up and down her back, as though unwilling to stop caressing her. "Ginny," he murmured absently, as he pressed kisses to her shoulder.

That one word seemed to be like a bucket of cold water over the two of them. He flung himself away from her, almost dropping her onto the ground. He looked utterly startled by what he had just said, startled by the complacency that had led him to say it. For her part, Ginny scrambled away from him, both confused and stunned. How had he known who she was? She reached up; her mask was still in place. Had he known from the beginning?

He was just rushing to his feet when he seemed to realize something. With his back studiously to her, he began to search wildly across the ground for something. "Don't look at me, don't look at me," he chanted, as if praying.

Her mind cleared just long enough for her to comprehend that what he was looking for was lying right in her lap. It had probably fallen off as he'd hurriedly extricated himself from her. His mask of elaborate white satin, with the elastic snapped.

Suddenly angry, Ginny got to her feet. He'd known who she was. Why was he so adamant that she not even see his face? After what they'd just done, she thought she deserved at least that. With all the strength of an angry Weasley, she grabbed his arm, wrenching him around to face her as she dangled the mask.

"Looking for…" her words trailed off. She almost dropped the mask, but he quickly grabbed it from her, pushing it onto his face and staring at her as though she were the last person he wanted to face. He shook her hand off violently, as though it were of the utmost importance that he got away from her immediately. But it was too late already. "Draco Malfoy?" she uttered, something akin to horror in her voice.

A remarkably cold wind blew in at that moment, swirling hard around them both. Ginny hardly noticed it, watching as Malfoy turned tail and sprinted away into the forest. Part of her wanted to go after him, but she could only stand there, mouth agape, completely stunned.

* * *

Ginny was not sure when she returned to her dormitory; all she knew was that morning came all too soon. Her head pounded faintly from whatever alcoholic concoction she had partook in last night, and she was exhausted and sore. But even these things were the least of her worries as she trudged, heavy-footed, down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

She had been with Draco Malfoy last night. Thinking back to the beginning of their encounter, all the signs had been there. It had been her own foolish stubbornness that made her ignore them, her desperate desire for that handsome stranger making her overlook all of the clues. For Merlin's sake, there were not many people at Hogwarts with such a light shade of blonde hair. Not to mention that cocky manner and the condescending _smirk_ she had found so attractive.

Ginny couldn't help but blush. Everything about what they had done still felt vivid and real—wonderfully so. He had known who she was, which was puzzling and slightly worrisome, but he had still been aroused by her. Even knowing who she was, he had still sought her out, and still been considerate of her.

Luna found her then. The blonde had dark smudges beneath her eyes, but she looked peppy as usual. "Now wasn't that a good time last night! I swear I saw jade rabbit frolicking near the bonfire. If only I'd brought my camera with me!" she stated rather smugly, some sort of furry earring shivering with contentment as it hung from her ear.

Ginny thought of something then, as the two walked together to the Great Hall. "Luna, what's the Beltane Blessing?"

Luna gave her a look of pure skepticism. "Are you seriously asking me that? You went to Beltane without even knowing about the Blessing?"

Ginny shook her head. "I heard everyone mentioning it, but I didn't think to ask what it was."

Luna gave her a concerned grimace, sucking in a breath through her teeth. "Oh dear me."

Ginny was starting to worry now, too, her footsteps faltering. "Is it something bad?"

"Ah, how to explain this concisely?" Luna mused, pinching her chin. "It can be good or bad, I suppose. There's a reason we wear masks to Beltane; it's so that we won't be recognized. If two lovers say each other's names on the night of Beltane, they'll be bound together for a year and a day."

Ginny felt her blood run cold, and she was sure the color drained from her face. "Oh my god."

Luna's eyes widened. "Please tell me you didn't. With who?"

"I'm going back to bed." Ginny turned around, walking quickly back in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower. Her appetite was gone along with her will to go to class. She barely registered Luna's protests.

Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy had received the Beltane Blessing. They would be bound together for a year and a day. She chuckled somewhat crazily as she climbed her way into the safety of her bed, drawing the curtains around her. She didn't know if she should be happy or mad. Maybe she was a bit of both.

**Author's Note: This was a bit of an exercise for me, since I'm just getting back into writing after a lengthy hiatus. I know the ending is rather abrupt. If I am later inspired, I may install another chapter, probably from Draco's POV, continuing this little idea. We shall see!**

**Review please! I'd love to know what you think**


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